


Ask and You Shall Receive

by MidtownKitten



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bisexuality, Canon Universe, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Friendship/Love, Multi, Religious Guilt, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-28 17:52:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12612100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidtownKitten/pseuds/MidtownKitten
Summary: "Come and join us, Priest."The invitation is offered and declined... but then what?A re-imagining of events over the course of Athelstan's first year among the Vikings.





	1. Chapter 1

“Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name.”  _ Don’t look. “ _ Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven.”  _ Don’t listen.  _ “Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses -”  _ Would God forgive me if I gave in to this? “ _ As we forgive those who have trespassed against us. And lead us not into temptation…” 

Athelstan stopped praying and clenched his jaw as a long moan of pleasure broke through his thoughts. They were tormenting him on purpose he knew, trying to lead him into sin. And he didn’t know how much longer he could resist. The thin partition of sticks and straw that separated his small sleeping area from the large bed shared by Ragnar Lothbrok and his wife, the shieldmaiden Lagertha, did nothing to muffle the sounds of their nightly lovemaking, and Athelstan had only to raise his eyes to see fragments of their naked bodies through the partition as they came together, almost violent in their passion for one another. 

Athelstan closed his eyes and tried to take up his prayer again but it was no use. He could tell himself not to look and not to listen, but how could he convince himself not to feel and not to want?  _ Come and join us, Priest.  _ Lagertha’s words burned in his mind. It had been three days since they had invited him to their bed and he had thought of nothing else since. He had refused of course, knowing it would be a sin, knowing that as a man of God, he had no right to the pleasures of the flesh. And yet if they asked again, Athelstan could not be sure he would say no. 

*****

“Athelstan, watch what you are doing!”

The little girl’s cry made Athelstan’s hands freeze, just in time to stop the knife he was using to peel potatoes from slicing through his thumb. 

“Thank you, Gyda,” Athelstan said, smiling sheepishly. “I will be more careful.” Ragnar’s fair-haired daughter was a sweet child who liked hearing Athelstan’s stories about the distant land he came from called England. 

Gyda giggled and said, “You are not a very good cook!”

Hearing the exchange, Lagertha looked up from her mending. “There are a great many things priests do not know about,” she said, her lips curving into a playful smile as she looked pointedly at the monk. “But we can teach him… if he cares to learn. What do you say, Priest? Do you care to learn?”

Athelstan felt his face grow hot. He stared at the potatoes on the table in front of him. “Are you still talking about cooking?” he asked.

“Are you?” came her reply.

Athelstan looked up and saw the answer plainly in her eyes. His breath caught in his throat as against his will, images of Lagertha’s long back glistening as she ground her hips into Ragnar’s body beneath her, filled his mind and he felt his manhood stiffen.

“Athelstan, come out here!”

Ragnar’s voice broke the intensity of the moment and Athelstan fairly jumped from the table, grateful for the interruption. “I think Ragnar is calling me,” he mumbled, as he hurried past her, hoping his shameful arousal could not be seen.

Once outside the homestead, Athelstan drew a long breath. In the weeks since he had arrived in Kattegat, the air had begun to turn colder, but with the sun still high and bright in the sky, the day felt pleasant enough and Athelstan was glad for the moment to gather himself before following Ragnar’s voice to the side of the house. He found the Viking farmer waiting for him there with his son Bjorn at his side.

The boy scowled at him but Ragnar smiled and said, “We’re going to the river. Do you want to come?”

Athelstan nodded and then paused uncertainly. He was still technically Ragnar’s slave and when first he had arrived, Ragnar had tied his hands and led him about with a rope like an animal. But the last time they had gone to the market, Ragnar had let him walk free and Athelstan had begun to feel - dare he say - a tenuous trust growing between himself and his captor. 

“What are you waiting for?” Ragnar demanded and rolled his eyes as he turned and headed down the path towards the river. Athelstan walked a pace behind him, listening to him tell Bjorn an animated story about one of their pagan gods. Ragnar sometimes asked him about his God and Athelstan tried his best to answer, but more often than not, Ragnar’s questions left Athelstan himself confused, doubting a faith he had never questioned before. He was quickly learning that these Northmen were not the mindless barbarians he had been taught they were. They could be barbaric, yes - after all, he had seen them murder his brothers at the monastery without remorse - but he saw now that they also cared deeply for their families and their animals, and that their Viking beliefs were as strong and deeply rooted as his Christian ones. In Ragnar especially, Athelstan saw a sharp wit, a curious mind, and an unpredictable heart that he suspected Ragnar would follow against all other counsel, to the ends of the Earth if that’s where it led him. 

When they reached the river, Ragnar and Bjorn thought nothing of stripping off their clothes and wading into the cold, clear water, splashing each other as they went. At the monastery, the monks washed fastidiously, although never in the presence of others, lest they fall prey to impure thoughts or actions. Since his arrival, Athelstan had been stealing whatever moments he could to dip a rag in the water basin and discretely wash himself without being seen, but now that he stood at the water’s edge, he longed to bathe himself properly. Neither Ragnar nor Bjorn seemed to be paying him any attention and pushing his shame at baring his body aside, Athelstan undressed and slowly made his way into the water. 

It was in truth too cold for comfort, but Athelstan nevertheless stood waist deep in the gentle current and filled his hands with water, splashing it on his chest and back. Taking a cautious step forward, he bent his head to try and wet his newly grown hair, and within an instant felt his feet slip from under him, plunging him backwards below the water’s surface. Athelstan thrashed wildly, struggling to find his footing and gulping in mouthfuls of river water in his panic. Then he was being pulled back towards the sky, coughing and sputtering, but safe in Ragnar’s grip, staring into icy blue eyes filled with a mix of mockery and concern. When he felt Ragnar loosen his hold, he couldn’t stop himself from clinging to the strong arms, the muscles hard and the skin cool to his touch.

“I can’t swim,” he gasped.

For a moment, Athelstan thought Ragnar was going to push him away, but instead he pulled the monk’s thin body into his chest and held him there, childlike, until he lowered his face close enough to Athelstan’s that his beard scratched the smooth cheek it met.

“Then put your feet on the ground,” Ragnar murmured into Athelstan’s ear.

Athelstan stopped his frantic kicking and let Ragnar’s sure hands guide him back to an upright position. He stood unsteadily in the shifting sand of the riverbed, shivering and embarrassed. It was only when he let go of Ragnar, that Ragnar in turn let go of him.

“Thank you,” he said, his eyes downcast. If Ragnar were to turn away from him in disgust, or even if he would berate him, beat him, tie him back up and treat him as a slave, Athelstan could have more easily understood any of those than this unexpected tenderness.

“You should have let him drown, Father.” Athelstan turned to see Bjorn wading past them. He was tall for his age and already strong in both body and will. 

Ragnar tilted his head and said, “Why would I do that?” Athelstan looked up at him and was struck by the thought,  _ how perfectly formed he is.  _ He banished the thought immediately and looked away, but already he could feel the blood rushing, and then that awful hardening of that part of himself that he could not control no matter how much he prayed. 

“I’ll wait for you - just there,” Athelstan said, turning too quickly and trying to cover his erection at once, both of which only made his condition all the more obvious. He started to go back to the spot where he had left his clothes, but Ragnar’s voice stopped him. 

“Athelstan,” he called. Athelstan stopped but would not turn. Then Ragnar was right behind him, leaning in close so that Athelstan could feel the drops of water falling from his braided hair. His commanding voice was half jest and half deadly serious when he said, “Don’t run away.”

Seated on the riverbank, watching Ragnar and Bjorn still in the water, sleek as fish and seemingly immune to the cold, Athelstan thought about Ragnar’s words.  _ Where would I go?  _ he wondered. And then to his own surprise, w _ hy would I go?  _ Although their ways were strange to him still, these Vikings had been kind to him and more and more he was beginning to feel like part of their little family. Surely the Lord had spared him and brought him here for a reason. Now he must stay to discover his purpose and fulfill it. Athelstan could not say what plans God had for himself or for Ragnar Lothbrok, but he felt sure their destinies were somehow intertwined.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - This chapter contains a near rape

Late summer melted into the autumn months so smoothly that Athelstan barely noticed the growing chill in the air or the light frost that lay over the fields when he woke in the mornings. He was becoming accustomed to working outdoors, his once soft, pale hands now toughened from the daily chores of the farm and tanned from long hours spent in the sun. He felt strong, no longer the quivering shell Ragnar had dragged across the sea, but a man.

_ A man of God?  _ His thoughts taunted him as he hauled water up from the well. He rarely prayed anymore. And he no longer stopped himself from listening to Ragnar and Lagertha when they lay together. In fact, it was more often now that he not only listened, but went so far as to take his own flesh in his hand, so that even if he could not share their bed, he could at least, share a bit of their pleasure.

When Athelstan returned with his buckets of water, the house was already starting to stir. The village was preparing for the winter, which meant stocking their food supplies, making warm clothes, and fortifying their homes against the coming months of snow. Ragnar was set to head out on a hunting trip along with his brother Rollo and Floki the Boatbuilder, and for the first time, he had agreed to take Bjorn with them.

“Look Father, Athelstan has returned! You said you would get up when there was fresh water and now there is!” Bjorn watched Athelstan dump one bucket into the wash basin and then ducked back into the house, still shouting for Ragnar to get out of bed. Athelstan smiled at the boy’s excitement, as he carried the other bucket into the cooking area and rekindled the fire, setting a small pot of water to boil. 

Ragnar eventually emerged from his bed chamber, naked and stretching lazily. He poured wine from the flask on the table where Athelstan had cut a few apples and was adding the sweet slices to the oats he had poured into the boiling water. Ragnar tussled the monk’s hair affectionately while he drank, even as Athelstan averted his gaze. He was now used to seeing Ragnar naked, but the sight still sometimes brought a strange and not entirely unpleasant fluttering in his belly, especially on mornings like this, with Ragnar smelling of sex and sweat, touching him in that oddly gentle way he had.

“Give me some time to wash,” Ragnar said to his son. “If I go like this, every beast in the forest will be able to smell me from miles away, isn’t it so Priest?” he asked, giving Athelstan a playful nudge. Seeing Bjorn about to launch into a new protest, Ragnar quickly added, “It’s not me you should be worried about. Your Uncle Rollo is probably still drunk or asleep or both. Go and pester him.”

“Wait, have something to eat first!” Athelstan called, but the boy had already swung his hunting pack over his shoulder and was headed down the path into the town.

It was only a few minutes after Ragnar went out back to wash, that Athelstan heard knocking at the door. He looked out the window and then opened the door with a smile.

“Good morning, Helga,” he said. 

Floki’s pretty wife smiled back at him. “Good morning to you, Athelstan,” she replied. “Is Gyda ready to go?”

“Ready to go where?” Athelstan asked, but before she could reply, Gyda came flying towards them and threw herself into Helga’s waiting arms. Helga laughed and kissed the girl, stroking her long, light hair, so like her mother’s.

“I’m going to stay with Helga while Father and Floki and Bjorn are away!” Gyda told him. “We’re going to make a special offering to the Goddess Freya so that she blesses their hunt. And then we’re going to eat sweets and make seashell necklaces and tell stories all night!”

“Sounds like you have quite a lot planned.” All three of them turned as Lagertha came out of the bedchamber. She wore a simple dress with a shawl around her shoulders and her hair loose around her. Caught in a shaft of morning sunlight, Athelstan was caught off guard, as he so often was, by her sheer loveliness. 

“Can I go now, Mother?” Gyda asked. 

“Not yet, my sweet one,” Lagertha answered. “It looks like Athelstan has made something good for you to eat. Sit with him a little while so Helga and I can talk.” She extended her hand towards the other woman and they retreated behind the bedchamber furs arm in arm. 

Athelstan gave Gyda a bowl of oats and apples and a cup of the fresh water he had brought. He took a bowl for himself as well, but barely touched the food. Floki and Helga were childless and Athelstan knew they loved Bjorn and Gyda as if they were their own. Surely then, it was merely a small kindness for Lagertha to lend her daughter to one who had none.  _ No doubt she will appreciate having peace and quiet for once,  _ Athelstan thought. Yet it was not peace and quiet that made his heart beat a little faster when the women returned and Lagertha brushed past him as she bent to kiss Gyda goodbye. And it was not peace and quiet that descended between them when Ragnar too left, so that it was just the monk and the shieldmaiden left alone together. Athelstan didn’t have the words for the tension in the air or the longing he felt when he looked at her, so he passed the day outdoors in silence. There was safety in being alone, in feeling the sun on his face, keeping the night at bay, but as darkness fell, he could hear her calling to him from across the field. Athelstan took his time washing his hands and face, but eventually he had to go inside and join Ragnar’s wife for supper.

Lagertha served a hearty stew and bread with butter and honey. She poured a cup of wine for Athelstan and then one for herself before sitting down across from him. If she sensed any of his wretchedness or knew its cause, she didn’t show it, making easy conversation as they ate and drank together. Without realizing it, Athelstan relaxed in her presence, warmed by the fire and the many cups of wine and her rich laughter as they traded stories well into the night. When she finally rose from the table, stifling a yawn, Athelstan stood as well. He felt hot all over and for a terrifying, exhilarating second, he imagined taking her in his arms and kissing her, laying her down across the table, and then… Athelstan froze. And then what? For all the times he had listened to Lagertha and Ragnar make love and for all the bits and pieces of it he had seen through his partition, the truth was he had no idea what he would do or how he would do it if he dared to take such a chance.

_ I am no Ragnar Lothbrok,  _ Athelstan thought, turning abruptly.  _ I am a poor excuse for a monk and poorer still for a man.  _ Mumbling a goodnight in Lagertha’s direction, Athelstan went to his pallet and closed his eyes, but sleep would not come. As the temperature dropped and the wine wore off, Athelstan shivered under his thin blanket, turning away from the flicker of lamplight next to where Lagertha slept. Until he heard his name.

“Athelstan?”

He opened his eyes.

“Athelstan!” Louder this time. “I know you’re awake. Come over here.”

Athelstan forced his numb lips to move. “I… I’m alright,” he replied.

“Don’t be stupid,” Lagertha said. “I can hear your teeth chattering from here.”

Athelstan opened his mouth to refuse her again, but found he could not make the words he meant to say. He came out from behind the partition that separated them and went slowly to her bed. Lagertha pulled back the heavy quilts and furs, making a space for Athelstan next to her. He immediately felt the warmth of the bed and of the woman in it start to seep into his skin, returning the feeling to his fingers and toes. 

“Thank you,” he said, without looking at her.

She propped her head up on one hand and replied, “Ragnar might actually kill me if I let you freeze to death. He’s taken quite an interest in you.”

“That’s strange,” Athelstan said.

“Why is that strange?” Lagertha asked.

With a wry smile Athelstan answered, “Because I’m not at all interesting.”

She turned his face so that their eyes met. “You don’t know what you are,” she said, before brushing his lips ever so lightly with her own. She drew back but to both of their surprise, Athelstan reached swiftly for her head and brought their mouths back together, not lightly this time, but with the urgency of a desire that would no longer be denied. Lagertha looked down at him. His face was boyish still, despite the beginnings of a proper beard, and his eyes were blue she realized - not the bright blue of a perfect summer sky like Ragnar’s, but a darker shade mixed with grey, like the sea before a storm. 

“Athelstan, are you sure you want this?” she asked him.

_ Yes _ , he thought.  _ Yes, I want this. I want this more than I knew I could want and more than I have ever wanted anything else. God forgive me, but I want this and for once, I will have what I want. _

“Yes,” he said.

In the space of a single breath she was sitting astride him, lifting her nightgown up over her thighs, torso, breasts, then finally over her head and onto the floor. She took his hands in hers and guided them to touch her, following the curves of her body down to where her legs parted. She was so soft there and so easily open to his exploring fingers that without thinking, he pushed them inside of her. She gasped in a mix of pleasure and surprise and then laughed softly. 

“That’s good,” she murmured. “Don’t stop.”

Resting one hand on his chest, she brought the other one to join his and he felt her fingers curling inward, circling some other part of her, slowly at first, then faster and faster still, until she tightened around him, eyes closed and back arched, then released with a long sigh that coated his hand in wetness. He was painfully hard beneath her and his eyes spoke his need so that she quickly opened his pants and took his cock in hand. She lifted her hips and in a smooth motion, let him fill her up. She began to rock steadily on top of him, feeling him swell inside her, and watching his face as he experienced what it was to be with a woman for the first time. She didn’t expect him to last long and indeed it was only a few minutes before he cried out and was suddenly spent. Lagertha rolled off of him and pulled the covers back over them both. 

“So Priest,” she said, “Do you think your god will forgive you your so-called sin?” 

She was only teasing him he knew and where he might have bristled at such a question in the early days here, now he simply answered, “I think… I’m no priest.”

Lagertha smiled at this. It suited her well. Better he should forget his Christian god who seemed to begrudge him any joy and embrace what pleasures the world had to offer. She turned on her side and fell into a contented sleep while Athelstan lay awake next to her, wondering not if God would forgive him, but if Ragnar would forgive him. And if he would one day be able to forgive himself.

******

If Ragnar knew or cared what had happened between Lagertha and Athelstan, he made no mention of it upon his return. In fact, there was little time in the days following to talk of anything other than the upcoming festival day. From what Athelstan understood, there would be prayers and animal sacrifices, along with much feasting, dancing, coupling, and general mischief and merrymaking all night long. When the day arrived, Ragnar, Lagertha, Athelstan, and the children all went down to Kattegat’s main square at sunset to watch the festival procession commence. The crowd was hushed and reverent as the white-robed officiants made their way through the square, chanting their ancient words, bearing their torches and beating their drums. 

_ It almost feels… holy,  _ Athelstan thought. But that was before the animals were slaughtered and the men’s faces were smeared with blood and the wildness spread through them faster than the strong ale they were drinking and spilling in the streets. Perhaps it reminded Athelstan too closely of when they had invaded the monastery, hooting and howling, unleashing death and destruction on all that he had held dear. It turned his stomach to think of it and he slipped away as soon as he could, taking the path back home. He lit the fire and sat quietly beside it, praying that his family - Ragnar’s family - would stay safe through the night. 

Athelstan didn’t know how long he had dozed in the chair by the fire when he woke to the sound of men shouting outside. He could make out Ragnar’s voice and.. someone else’s. He stood uncertainly, not sure whether he should go outside or stay where he was. The decision was made for him when the door burst open and Rollo stormed into the house. He was a great brute of a man, taller even than Ragnar and bear-like in appearance and demeanor. 

Athelstan tried not to cower when Rollo snarled in his direction, “Where is she? Where is Lagertha?”

“I… I don’t know,” Athelstan stammered in response. “She isn’t here.”

Ragnar appeared in the doorway behind his brother. “I told you as much. I told you she wasn’t here, but as usual, you didn’t listen to me. I’ll tell you something else - I wish she was here. It would give me great satisfaction to watch her choose me over you. Again.” Ragnar was talking to Rollo but looking at Athelstan when he said, “She always chooses me in the end.” Athelstan felt a knot of dread forming in the pit of his stomach.

Rollo picked up a bowl left on the table and flung it at Ragnar’s head. Ragnar ducked out of the way and the bowl smashed against the door. The brothers faced one another, anger seething between them, but just when Athelstan thought they would lunge at each other, Rollo turned away. 

“Why fight then, brother?” he asked bitterly. “You’ve already won.”

“Rollo -” Ragnar began, but the bigger man shoved past him and was gone into the night. Ragnar threw up his hands. “My brother is in love with my wife. What am I supposed to do about that?” He laughed a hollow, high-pitched laugh and Athelstan realized he was drunk. “Half the village is in love with Lagertha,” Ragnar continued as he began circling the room. “That doesn’t surprise me. You know what does surprise me,  _ Priest _ ?” He spat the word at Athelstan who had bent to pick up the shards of broken bowl. “You. You surprise me.” Athelstan rose warily and placed the broken pieces carefully on the table. Ragnar was closing in, no longer circling the room, just circling him. “You pretend to be so pious, so devoted to your silly god, but you get one sniff of pussy and -” Ragnar whistled softly and made a flitting motion with one hand. “All that devotion - gone.” He clicked his tongue in a tsk tsk noise. “Desire will do that to a man.” He came in close enough so that Athelstan could smell the ale on his breath. “What other desires do you have, I wonder?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Athelstan answered, his words sounding weak even to his own ears.

“No?” Ragnar challenged. “Let’s find out.” He reached for Athelstan as though he would grab his cock through his pants. Athelstan batted the hand away and darted backwards. Ragnar’s eyes narrowed dangerously and the dread in Athelstan’s stomach turned to real fear as Ragnar advanced on him. “I spared your life. Me! Make no mistake, Athelstan, you are mine and I will use you any way that pleases me.”

“It… it would be a sin,” Athelstan said. He barely understood what the  _ it _ was, but he knew it was tied to the effect Ragnar had on him and to the hunger with which Ragnar was looking at him now. 

“You broke your vows to your god...” Ragnar bent his head to whisper in Athelstan’s ear, “... when you fucked my wife.” His hand slipped into Athelstan’s pants and began jerking his cock with rough strokes that had it instantly hard. With his other hand, Ragnar flicked open the buttons of Athelstan’s tunic and lifted the cross he still wore around his neck. “Stop hiding behind this and admit that you want me as much as I want you.”

Athelstan couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think. It was too much. He had already gone too far, if he gave in to this as well, there would be no coming back. He would be lost. With a strength born of desperation, he wrenched himself free and made for the door. He hadn’t taken two steps before Ragnar had caught his arm in an iron grip and twisted it painfully behind his back. The side of Athelstan’s face slammed into the hard surface of the table, as he felt himself bent over its edge. He struggled for a moment, but feared that Ragnar might actually break his arm. Then his pants were torn down and his legs kicked apart. Hot, helpless tears blurred the jagged edges of the broken bowl as he realized he could not stop this thing from happening.

“I do want you! Is that what you want to hear?” The words were choked with shame but Athelstan forced himself to say them, knowing as he did, that they were true. “But not like this! Ragnar, please… Not like this. Never like this.”

Athelstan shut his eyes and waited for whatever Ragnar meant to do to him next. Then he felt his arm released and the weight that pinned him to the table gone and it was all he could do not to start sobbing like a child. He pulled up his pants with shaking hands and then slowly turned to face Ragnar, who had backed away and looked dazed and stricken, as if it was he who had been attacked, instead of the attacker. Ragnar gazed around him, seeming to only now realize where he was. He yawned and scratched his beard, then stumbled towards his bed. Within minutes, Athelstan heard him snoring. 

Athelstan didn’t know what scared him more - what Ragnar had done, or his own admission that he had wanted Ragnar to do it.  _ But I didn’t, I couldn’t!  _ And yet the truth crept in, try as he might to silence it.  _ You could and you did. You still do.  _ Desperate to escape his tortured mind and treacherous body, he threw his cloak over his shoulders and opened the door to a gust of wind. He meant to take the path leading away from the town, but a small figure in a tiny white fur caught his attention. 

“Gyda!” he called. Long hair that had fallen out of its braids streamed behind her as she ran to him. “What are you doing out here alone?”

“Bjorn was supposed to stay with me but I don’t know where he went and I can’t find Mother and there are people wearing scary masks and I’m cold and tired. So I came home.” She peered up at him and asked, “What are you doing out here alone?”

“I’m… Looking for you,” he answered.

She gave him a sleepy smile and said, “Well then neither of us is out here alone anymore, are we?” 

Athelstan scooped her up. “No we’re not,” he said. She felt warm and solid in his arms and he knew then there was no leaving her.  _ You are mine,  _ Ragnar had said.  _ Yes,  _ Athelstan thought, _a_ __nd_ I am theirs.  _ There was no leaving any of them now, no matter what happened. 

Gyda wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder, and Athelstan carried her inside the house, closing the door behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, Athelstan went about his work as usual. He and Ragnar said nothing to each other and Athelstan might have wondered if Ragnar even remembered the events of the previous night, except for the deliberate distance he was keeping and the way he couldn’t seem to meet Athelstan’s eyes. 

“Athelstan, what happened to your face?” Lagertha put her hand on his, stopping him as he served the breakfast porridge. 

Athelstan touched his cheek gingerly where it was bruised and swollen. “I fell,” he said, the lie coming surprisingly easily. “I am not used to drinking ale, perhaps I had too much last night.”

“You and everyone else,” she replied, raising an eyebrow at Ragnar who ignored them both. He left the table without a word and they could soon hear him chopping wood behind the house. “He’s in a mood,” Lagertha muttered. She sent the children to their chores and took up her weaving, leaving Athelstan to occupy himself. He swept the floors and washed the clothes, and put fresh straw and grain out for the chickens. The hens laid fewer eggs in the winter, but it was still more than many others had. If there were any extra at the end of the week, Athelstan would take them with him when he went to the market and would quietly give them to those in need. Later in the day, he finished carving a wooden horse for Gyda to go with the other small playthings he had made for her. He helped Lagertha cook supper and ate with the family. Before he went to bed, Lagertha gave him an extra fur and a lamp for his sleeping area so that he was quite comfortable when he lay down behind his partition. He waited to see if they would ask him again to join them, but no such invitation came. He told himself it was for the best, that it would be as if nothing had happened and he would be free from temptation, free to focus again on the Lord. But as soon as sleep overtook him, visions of scripture were replaced by dreams of Lagertha’s softness and Ragnar’s heat, dreams that made him feel confused and ashamed, but also more alive than he had ever felt before. 

When Athelstan woke, the lamp had burnt out and he was achingly empty, cold and alone. 

*****

Weeks went by and the days slowly got longer and warmer. Floki was busy preparing the boats and anticipation was building in the village for the Earl’s decision on where they would go raiding after the spring planting was done. 

Athelstan was serving breakfast as usual when Ragnar cleared his throat. “It’s a nice day today,” he said to no one in particular. “I was thinking… the river has thawed and it would be a good day for fishing.”

Bjorn wrinkled his nose. “I don’t like the smell of fish,” he said.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Ragnar snapped at the boy. Then looking out the window he said, “I thought Athelstan might come with me.”

Athelstan froze, his face expressionless as though he had not heard.

“Why are you talking about him as if he’s not right in front of you?” Lagertha asked. She didn’t know what had happened between the two of them, but she knew the house was too small for this foolishness to continue and she had told Ragnar as much.

Ragnar made an exasperated sound but nevertheless turned to look at Athelstan. “Well?”

They had barely spoken since the night of the festival and although Athelstan had imagined confronting Ragnar many times since, now that the chance was offered, he had nothing to say. 

“Alright,” he replied.

They took the path down to the river and found a spot where the rocks sloped up from the water, giving them a place to sit and cast their lines. It was some time before Ragnar said, “I want to say something to you.” He glanced over and taking Athelstan’s silence for acceptance, continued, “What I want to say is… that I am sorry for what happened. I should not have done what I did. Not to you.”

Athelstan took a breath, then said, “I understand why you did.”

“You do?”

“Committing adultery is a terrible thing, an unforgivable thing. I understand why you would… punish me for it.”

Ragnar paused, then asked, “What does that mean - adultery?”

Athelstan blushed, but replied, “To... lie with another man’s wife.”

Understanding dawned on Ragnar’s face. “Lagertha is my wife, but she is still a free woman. She can lie with whoever she wants.” The corner of his mouth turned up when he said, “I knew she would have you eventually, one way or another.” Then his smile faded. “Is that what you thought all this time?” He shook his head. “I don’t want to fuck you to punish you, Athelstan.”

“Why then?”

_ Why then?  _ Ragnar had asked himself the same question countless times since bringing the Priest back to Kattegat. On the night of the festival, he had wanted the answer to be simple, to fuck his slave like any other and forget the disquieting way he was drawn to this man as he had never been drawn to another before. It hadn’t worked and he still had no clear answer to the question. Ragnar shrugged. “It would feel good,” he replied.

Athelstan swallowed hard. “You’ve done this to others then? With others?” He dropped his voice. “With other men?”

“I have,” Ragnar answered as if it was of no consequence at all.

“But it’s… it’s unnatural!”

Ragnar turned the full intensity of his gaze on the man beside him. “Have you ever been fucked, Athelstan?” He leaned in closer and added, “Other than by my wife.”

Athelstan felt paralyzed. “You know I haven’t,” he whispered.

“Then how do you know what it is and what it isn’t?” 

Nothing made sense when Ragnar looked at him like that. “... I don’t.” With a satisfied grunt, Ragnar looked back out over the river. Athelstan felt the embarrassment of his question before he spoke it aloud, but he asked it anyway. If he would know this thing, he might as well know all of it. “If you did it to me… I mean, if we… did it together… would you hurt me?”

Ragnar paused for a moment, then said, “Yes. At first.” He looked sideways at Athelstan and taking in his furrowed brow, said to him, “You have nothing to fear from me, Priest. I won’t touch you again.” Then with his familiar smirk, “Unless you ask me to.”

They fished in silence, Ragnar’s conscience now clear and his mind focused on the raid ahead; Athelstan’s mind a turmoil of warring doubt and desire. Both men saw paths ahead they had only dreamed of, a future not yet imagined, doors opening to new worlds. Only neither knew yet if they would be granted the luck or courage or both to go through.

*****

In a month’s time, the ships were ready and the Earl had decreed they would return to England. After Ragnar’s success reaching its distant shores, there were many more who now wished to join him and their raiding party would be double the size of that which had sacked the monastery a year before. 

Athelstan watched the preparations from the cliff overlooking the docks.  _ A year,  _ he thought.  _ A year among these people, learning their ways, farming their land, becoming someone new.  _

“If anything happens to my children while we are gone, I’ll kill you myself, Priest,” Lagertha had told him before she had kissed him and boarded a boat. She was so tender with the children, so passionate with Ragnar, so gentle with him - it was easy to forget she was also a fierce warrior who could kill a man twice her size with ease. He had no doubt she meant what she had said to him, even as the sweetness of her kiss still lingered on his lips. 

As for Ragnar, he had been true to his word - maddeningly so - and hadn’t so much as ruffled a hair on Athelstan’s head. They had talked though, sometimes for hours, every day while they worked the fields, or walked the forest paths, or simply sat together in the long grass. Ragnar made him see the world in new ways, still made him blush with the matter of fact way he spoke about carnal things, and often made him laugh in spite of himself. And now he sailed away and only God knew if he would return. Athelstan had dreamed he saw Ragnar in a pit of snakes, bleeding, gasping for air, then lying cold and still.  _ Ragnar Lothbrok cannot die,  _ he told himself firmly, but a part of him still wished he was getting on a boat with the rest of them. Rollo, Floki, Lagertha - they would fight bravely at Ragnar’s side.  _ But none of them can know his mind as I could. None will be able to protect and counsel him as I would.  _ The last thought came so simply and clearly that it brought sudden tears to Athelstan’s eyes.  _ None of them love him as I do.  _

“Weren’t you going to say goodbye?” 

Athelstan started then smiled at the voice right behind him. How a man Ragnar’s size could move so soundlessly would always be a mystery to him. He swiped his hand across his eyes and replied, “I said goodbye to Lagertha and she threatened my life. I thought it best to keep a safe distance.” Ragnar sat down beside Athelstan and they looked out at the fleet of ships below. “Floki has made you beautiful boats,” Athelstan said. 

“You should tell him so yourself.”

Athelstan shook his head. “Floki hates me.”

“Floki is jealous of you.”

“Jealous?” Athelstan gave an incredulous little laugh. “Why should he be jealous of me?”

“You know why,” Ragnar said quietly. 

Athelstan felt again on the verge of tears. Before the feeling could overtake him, he quickly asked, “How long will you be gone?”

“A month, maybe more, maybe less, depending on what we find in your country,” Ragnar replied. “We didn't take the time to explore properly on our first voyage and I think we will return with much more treasure this time. More gold, more silver…”

“More priests,” Athelstan quipped. 

Ragnar laughed and shook his head. “No,” he said, his voice warm, “I like the one I already have.” Then his tone became more serious. “Athelstan, if something should happen to us and we don’t return, will you look after my children?”

“Of course, you know I will,” Athelstan replied. “But there won’t be a need.” He placed a tentative hand on Ragnar’s shoulder. “We will see each other again soon.”

A horn sounded from the ships. With a slight sigh, Ragnar stood and said, “Time to go.”

Athelstan didn’t move.  _ Don’t go _ , he wanted to cry out.  _ I’ll do whatever you want, just stay here with me.  _ He closed his eyes and pushed away the impossible, getting slowly to his feet. He turned to find Ragnar with his hand outstretched, a bronze armband glinting in his palm. 

“Take it if you want it,” he said.

Athelstan looked at the band and understood its significance. A boy received an armband when he passed into manhood and he wore it for life, a symbol for all the world to see of what he was - a Viking. It was customary for the recipient of such a gift to swear allegiance to the one who had given it, usually his Earl. Athelstan didn’t know if it was right to swear so to Ragnar, but as he slid the metal onto his wrist, he knew that it bound them together somehow, now and ever after. 

After a moment’s thought, Athelstan took the cross from around his neck and reached up to put it over Ragnar’s head. “I know you are not a Christian, but wear it anyway. For me.”

Ragnar looked at Athelstan with bright eyes, then nodded and enclosed the bit of silver in his fist. “Farewell, Priest,” he said and turned to leave.  

“Ragnar!” Athelstan’s cry was strangled, anguished. “I’m asking you.”

Ragnar turned back and cocked his head. “Asking me what?”

The words came in a rush, “You said you would not touch me again unless I asked you to. I’m asking you.”

Ragnar was on him in a heartbeat, crushing him in a long embrace. Then his rough hands were on either side of Athelstan’s face, tilting it up and holding it still as he claimed the monk’s mouth with his. The horn sounded again from below, intruding and insistent and Ragnar made a sound low in his throat, pressing his forehead to Athelstan’s. “Ask me again when I come back,” he said, but Athelstan barely heard him. He was consumed with need - need for more of that mouth, more of those hands on his body, more of the unknown that Ragnar promised.

Ragnar took a step back and studied Athelstan’s face. He wanted to remember his Priest like this, beautiful and sweet, like ripe summer fruit ready to be picked and devoured. He reached out to stroke the dark hair, then could not resist pulling him close once more. He kissed the top of the Priest’s head and repeated, “Ask me again.”

Athelstan couldn’t say yes and couldn’t say no. He couldn’t say anything at all as Ragnar left him alone on the cliff and he couldn’t stop the sobs that shook his body as he watched his heart sail away into the mid-morning sun. All he could do was pray, and he did so every night, calling on all the gods and saints and angels he could think of, pleading, bargaining, and as the weeks passed, begging for the lives of those he loved. Over and over again, he sent the words to the heavens, over and over,  _ Please, dear Lord, bring them back to me. Please Lord, please, bring them home.  _


	4. Chapter 4

On the morning Floki’s ships reappeared on the horizon, Athelstan was right where Ragnar had left him, watching from the cliff as he did every morning, for any sign of their return. He was not the only one to see them, and by the time he had scrambled down the hillside, through the forest, and back to the farm to tell Gyda and Bjorn, word was already spreading through the village. A crowd gathered at the docks as the boats came in and there were shouts of joy all around as parents hugged their children and husbands kissed their wives. There were other sounds too - weeping for those who had lost eyes or limbs or had not returned at all, the great  _ thud  _ of chests laden with treasure hitting the ground, and a lot of shuffling and shouting as captives were unloaded and herded towards the market where they would be sold as slaves.

A girl, not much older than Gyda, stumbled as Athelstan watched, her hands tied, unable to break her fall. Without thinking, he reached out to help her, but the girl recoiled from him, her face a mask of fear and hatred. Athelstan realized then how she must see him - a savage, a heathen, a Viking. He wanted to tell her not to be afraid, that these people who had taken her were not the monsters she thought them to be, but no words came and she was led away. He shuddered to think of what would likely happen to her once the men started feasting and drinking later that night.  _ Maybe they are monsters,  _ he thought.  _ And maybe I am one of them.  _

_ “ _ Mother!” Gyda’s cry interrupted his thoughts and he turned to see her rushing into Lagertha’s arms. The shieldmaiden looked weary, her tunic torn and bloodstained, her hair dull and caked with dirt. Yet her face lit up when she saw her children and Athelstan behind them. 

“Is my house still standing, Priest?” she asked, flashing him a brilliant smile. 

“House, children, chickens, all are just fine,” Athelstan replied. 

“Good,” she said. “Now you must come and draw me a bath. I haven’t been clean since the day we left!” She started towards the path back to the farm, Gyda running circles around her. Athelstan looked towards the boats. Ragnar was there, embracing Bjorn who had climbed aboard, barking orders, unloading cargo, in command as usual. Lagertha laughed. “Don’t worry,” she said, “You and Ragnar will have plenty of time… to talk.” She punctuated her last words with a wink in Athelstan’s direction and to his chagrin, he reddened to the roots of his hair as he hurried after her. He did want to talk to Ragnar, to know everything that had happened on the other side of the sea. But there were other things he wanted too.

_ Ask me again.  _ Ragnar’s words echoed in Athelstan’s head and something between fear and excitement sparked low in his body, starting a slow burning fire that no amount of prayer could put out.  _ I will ask you, Ragnar,  _ he thought.  _ I will end this torment that began from the first moment I saw you. And I will do it tonight. _

_ ***** _

Athelstan had hoped to get a moment alone with Ragnar before the evening’s feast, but Ragnar had only come home for a wash and change of clothes before going to speak with the Earl who had summoned him for a private audience. From inside the house, Athelstan had heard Lagertha talking to him as she had rebraided his damp hair outside in the sun.

“What quarrel could he have with you? It is because of you that we have brought such riches to Kattegat! I’m sure he is pleased.”

“Of course he is pleased!” Ragnar had retorted. “He will keep the best of the treasure for himself and leave those of us who earned it with our blood to divide up the scraps.”

“He is the Earl. That is his right.”

“Why is it his right?! Who gave it to him?”

Lagertha had laughed. “Enough questions! The gods have smiled on us, husband. We are home and we will have enough to live comfortably through the winter. They feast tonight in your honor, my love, not the Earl’s. Let him say his peace, then forget about him and enjoy the night ahead.”

Athelstan had caught himself listening hard in the silence that had followed but couldn’t catch any further words. When he had finally realized they were no longer talking, but kissing, he had quickly left the house, and hadn’t seen Ragnar since. 

The sun had long since set when he finally made his way to the Earl’s dwelling, where a great feast was laid out from one end of the hall to the other. The Earl and his wife presided over the celebration from the head of the long table, but it was Ragnar who commanded the crowd’s attention. Athelstan slipped in and watched from the back, while Ragnar, born storyteller that he was, conjured in vivid detail the lands they had seen, the people they had met, and the battles they had fought. Athelstan eventually found an empty spot along the bench at the table and accepted the cup of wine someone placed in front of him. He listened to the stories being told, laughed at the jokes, and shared in the remembrance of those who had gone on to Valhalla. At that moment, Athelstan felt that he was among his own people, that he was among friends. 

He knew somehow, without even looking, when Ragnar’s eyes fell on him, seeking him out in the crowd. He liked the feeling, liked being the object of Ragnar’s gaze. When he finally looked up, he was rewarded with a full on grin, and something else - a mischievous glint in those startling blue eyes, a question yet unanswered. Athelstan took a breath and downed the wine left in his cup, before starting to make his way to where Ragnar was seated. There were people around him on all sides, everyone vying for the hero’s attention. Athelstan could have found a way past all these, but when Floki suddenly appeared at Ragnar’s side, his arm around his shoulders, his wild eyes glittering as he refilled his friend’s cup, Athelstan stopped.  _ Not here,  _ he thought.  _ Not tonight. Tonight he belongs to them.  _

The house was dark and quiet when Athelstan lay down on his pallet. The children had found beds elsewhere and Lagertha and Ragnar would no doubt be reveling for hours to come.  _ There will be other nights,  _ Athelstan thought, and he didn’t know if it was disappointment or relief or both that he felt as he fell into a dreamless sleep. 

*****

It was the sound of laughter that woke him sometime later that night, then something toppling onto the floor in the darkness before the torches on either side of the big bed were lit. Ragnar and Lagertha spoke in hushed tones, but Athelstan was almost certain he heard his name pass between them. He held his breath, waiting.

“Athelstan, are you awake?” It was Lagertha’s voice, low and lilting. 

“Yes.”

Then she was there before him, smiling and extending her hand. “Come and join us, Priest,” she said. Athelstan was transported to the first time she had spoken those words to him, Ragnar at her side. They had been strangers to him then, and he, frightened and confused by the feelings they had stirred in him, still a stranger to himself. He had turned them down then, but he would not do so again, and he didn’t know if it was strength or weakness that now made him take her hand and let her lead him into the middle of the room. 

“Take off your clothes,” she told him, as she began to undress herself. 

Athelstan hesitated. “I…”

“Don’t argue with me, Priest,” she said. Athelstan glanced at Ragnar leaning against the wall, a bemused expression on his face. He folded his arms across his chest.  _ Do as you will,  _ his eyes said.

If Athelstan was slow to remove each piece of clothing, one by one, it was more out of nervousness than any intention to seduce, but such was the effect on the pair who watched him, anticipating his movements, letting their hunger build.  _ Like wolves watching their prey,  _ Athelstan thought. For someone about to be eaten alive, he felt strangely safe. 

When they were both naked, Lagertha came to him and wound her arms around his neck. “Did you miss us?”

Athelstan laughed softly at this. “Yes,” he replied truthfully. “Very much.” 

She tilted her chin up for a kiss and he needed no further encouragement to find her mouth with his. She let him kiss her for a long time before she turned in his arms so that they both faced Ragnar who hadn’t moved from where he stood. She took Athelstan’s hands in hers and brought them to her breasts, all the while pressed tight to his body, sliding her hips up and down against his growing hardness. She eyed Ragnar and said, “What’s the matter, husband? It isn’t like you to be shy.”

Ragnar approached his wife and his Priest. Athelstan thought to let her go, but Ragnar, standing a good head taller than them both, slipped his hand between Lagertha’s legs, touching her in a way that made her suddenly go weak, so that she might have fallen had Athelstan not held her up. She let her head fall back on his shoulder and groaned as pleasure coursed through her body. She was a beautiful sight to behold, but Ragnar wasn’t looking at her. He was looking straight at Athelstan. 

“Ask,” he said. “Ask for what you want.” Athelstan’s mouth went dry, his heart beating too fast. He didn’t know what to say and could only shake his head. Ragnar moved in closer and said, “Let me help you. The words you are looking for are please... fuck... me.”

_ Please fuck me.  _ These were coarse words, sinful words, and Athelstan was ashamed to say them. He didn’t know if he could say them, but he was locked in Ragnar’s stare with no way out save one. “Please…” he whispered, closing his eyes. “Please fuck me.”

“Again,” came Ragnar’s quiet command. 

“Please fuck me,” Athelstan repeated, even as Lagertha writhed against him, riding Ragnar’s hand until her passion was spent. “Please fuck me,” eyes open now, wide and unwavering. “Please fuck me,” again and again, the words tumbling out as if they had been penned up in his mouth for all these many years and only now set free. 

Ragnar pulled Lagertha towards him, at the same time giving Athelstan a shove so that he fell backwards on the bed. Athelstan was vaguely aware of Lagertha rummaging for something in her baskets tucked in the corner, but then Ragnar was naked and on him, spreading his legs, and Athelstan knew nothing but the sudden searing pain of being forced open. He screamed, fists clenched and muscles tense, unwilling to refuse, unable to consent. 

“Stop!” Lagertha’s voice was firm as she put her hands on Ragnar’s shoulders, pulling him back. He turned on her, growling impatiently, but she took his head in her hands and fixed him with an even gaze. There were many who were afraid of Ragnar Lothbrok, and with good reason, but Lagertha was not one of them. “Ragnar, look at him,” she said. Her words were meant for her husband alone, but Athelstan still heard. “You’ll tear him apart. Is that what you want?”

Ragnar looked down at Athelstan, then at his wife, then looked heavenward and drew a long breath. “No,” he said through gritted teeth, and moved aside to let Lagertha climb on the bed. 

“Come here,” Lagertha said to Athelstan, pulling him up so that they faced one another, both on their knees. He watched as she picked up the vial she had been searching for, opened it, and held it up for him to smell.  _ Oil _ , Athelstan realized. The scent of cedar, maybe a hint of juniper. She emptied it into her palm, then rubbed her hands together, warming it up as it coated her fingers and dripped from her wrists. She reached around and caressed his backside, kneading the flesh gently, working her way into the cleft and circling the opening there. “The first time Ragnar had me this way, I bled like a virgin and could barely sit for two days.” Athelstan winced as one finger slid inside. “We were so young,” she said softly. “We didn't know then that sometimes…” Two fingers now, in and out, in and out. “...Slower is better.” Athelstan gasped as the third finger went in, stretching him. He pulled away from her, but hit the wall of Ragnar’s chest. A fist closed in his hair pulling his head back and he was overtaken by the delicious, forbidden wonder of Ragnar’s lips. Then it was Lagertha kissing him, touching him, inside of him, and they went back and forth like that until Athelstan became lost in the sea of sensation, not fully knowing where his body ended and the other two began. He didn’t know what possessed him to do it, but he was past the point of questioning when he reached for Ragnar’s cock and finding drops of wetness there, bent his head to lick the salty tip.

“Ah, Priest,” Ragnar breathed, something like reverence in his voice, as he moved to lie down, pulling Athelstan with him. His mouth was against Athelstan’s neck, one heavy forearm across his chest. Athelstan felt the arm tighten, holding him close and still, as Ragnar slowly but relentlessly pushed inside him. He paused only when his full length was buried deep, then drew back and thrust in again, harder now, making Athelstan cry out in pain mixed with pleasure. 

_ Please fuck me.  _ At last Athelstan understood what it was he had asked for, what it was he had needed all this time. Ragnar was touching some part of him he hadn’t known was there and it was filling him with an ecstasy so pure, he had no doubt at that moment that it could only be a gift from God. Athelstan didn’t realize there were tears streaming down his face until he felt Lagertha’s fingers brushing them from his cheeks.

“The pain will fade,” she murmured, mistaking the cause of his tears as she lay down beside him. “I promise you Athelstan, it can feel so good.”

How could he explain? Giving himself to her had made him feel good. Giving himself to Ragnar made him feel whole. He kissed her fingertips as with her other hand, she stroked his cock in time with Ragnar’s rhythm. Nothing existed for Athelstan then but the three of them moving as one, and even when it was finished, they remained intertwined, Athelstan nestled between them, warm under the weight of Ragnar’s arm. _How strange_ _life is,_ he thought. _When I was a monk, I lived in bondage of my own making. It was only as a slave that I became free._

As he drifted from the world of the waking, Athelstan remembered again those first nights he had spent alone and afraid on his pallet, desperate to shut out the passion, the beauty, the love God had put in front of him. How fervently he had prayed, but for all the wrong things and the wrong reasons.  _ Perhaps that is why my prayers always went unfinished… Until now.  _ Athelstan felt his cross that Ragnar still wore, pressed into his back, the silver warm from touching them both, as he whispered an ending to the prayer he had started what seemed like a lifetime ago, “... But deliver us from evil, for thine is the kingdom, forever and ever. Amen.” 

Athelstan smiled as sleep engulfed him, content in the knowledge that tonight, his prayer had been heard. 

  
  



End file.
